art
Shine
my answer was always going to be no
all of my instincts said i must go
dreams are not only a thing of the night
you didn’t express it, when i was there,
when i was in pain, you were so scared,
but our purpose in life
is to travel and grow
come out from that blanket
breathe in the air
darling just shine!
look at the light
In Utopia
In a perfect place,
In a perfect time,
In a perfect world,
Why would we not be perfect?
Why move away from the warmth
When the fires are burning so strong?
Why struggle to fend off the angels of love
When the air is full of their song?
Let heaven come down from above.
Let angels rest on the earth.
The gifts were long ago given
And each new day, rebirth.
Art work by A.Gouedard. 2019.
A painting I just finished
The stems are gold, the leaves are white
The bird’s a daytime piece of night.
His story’s old. I cannot tell.
The blackbird knows the story well.
It’s a Circus
When Toulouse Lautrec tried to paint them he woke each morning to find his canvas was blank. Hardly surprising, given the nature of the Circus of Dreams. They are restless and always move on.
You may ask why there is a door that seems to lead nowhere.
Even the Master of Ceremonies wonders about that from time to time and the fact that he can’t discover the answer is beginning to irritate him, just a little, after 150 years.
The dancers don’t let it bother them much, though it sometimes confuses their entrances and exits to and from the stage.
But the show must go on! – or at least they all presume that it must – so they perform every night whether there is an audience or not. If the whole thing ends in chaos who cares.
They dance! And that’s what REALLY matters.
A Book Illustration
Rebecca Troyer has illustrated one of my poems (the copyright is hers)
Isn’t that just lovely ! Here is the poem
The Faerie Garden
Its windows blown by wind and rain,
down the lanes where no-one came,
an ancient ruined cottage stood
with tumbled walls, close by the wood.
The cottage garden growing wild
with warring flowers unreconciled
was all a tangle, intertwined,
with paths and borders undefined
Columbine closed up the doors,
Ivy crept across the floors.
The roses grew all over-blown
Claiming all the walls their own.
Delphiniums, for summer skies,
near the solemn peonies rise.
Hollyhock o’er-towers them all
and Jasmin scents the evenings fall.
In this riotous throng of flowers
the faeries come to spend their hours.
They crown themselves with daisy chains
as sunlight spreads its last remains.
As evening falls they make their way
with gentle steps at close of day
to the bed they much prefer
beneath the sleepy lavender.
Just HAD to share this!
Beautiful paintings
The Dreaming Path 